


Find Me

by villscrocs



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Killing Eve (TV 2018) Season/Series 03, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24888517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villscrocs/pseuds/villscrocs
Summary: Post 3x08. Ten days after the bridge, Eve and Villanelle spend one night together before they go their separate ways.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 12
Kudos: 136





	Find Me

**Author's Note:**

> hey! welcome to my angsty ke fic! as much as i want a happy ending for our murder girlfriends, i thought it would be interesting to explore a more realistic ending while also giving the people what they want lol. hope you enjoy!

The rain starts just moments after Eve turns around for the second time. She quickens her pace, her breathing shallow as she stuffs her hair into her hood and wills herself to keep walking.

She doesn’t know what she had been expecting to see when she turned around and saw Villanelle do the same, smiling slyly in a way she had never seen her do before. They were still for a moment, which felt like an eternity, and Eve grasped for a clue at what was supposed to happen next. Were they supposed to run back across the bridge into each other’s arms, or call out proclamations of undying love and adoration? It felt too easy. Eve knows nothing with the two of them could ever be easy, and almost chuckles at the absurdity of the thought. She doesn’t even know if it’s what she wants.

So she looked into Villanelle’s eyes across the bridge, willing herself to etch the image of them into her mind forever, and walked away.

Over the two days that follow, Eve succumbs to the worst Villanelle-induced delirium she has ever experienced. She sees Villanelle in the sun, and in passers-by on the street, and in every fucking perfume ad and store mannequin. She can’t take the bus or underground, or listen to music without wondering if there’s a chance that Villanelle could somehow be listening to the same song at the same time somewhere. She doesn’t miss her, she’s angry. Villanelle had told her everything would stop if they walked away, and it’s slowly dawning on Eve that this was very likely another one of Villanelle’s variety of manipulation tactics, and that she will probably call her the next day as though nothing happened.

A week goes by, and Eve resorts to staying in her room instead of trying to go out. It’s easier that way; at least inside she can control what torments her with copious amounts of wine instead of losing her footing every time a slightly-taller-than-average blonde woman passes her on the sidewalk. She tries journaling, but always ends up writing notes to Villanelle that she knows she’ll never read anyway. Sometimes the letters are hate filled, other times she simply tells her about her day: What time she woke up, what she ate for breakfast, and a tally of how many days it’s been since she’s washed her hair. She hates how much she wants her to call, or text, or show up at the doorstep, or give her a reason to stare into her face without saying anything at all.

Ten days after they walk away, Eve receives a call from an unknown number during hour nine of her Love Island marathon. She sits up, pushes her hair out of her face, and answers after the fourth ring.

Neither of them says anything, but Eve recognizes her breathing. It’s shallow, but somehow steady and calm at the same time. Eve closes her eyes and breaks the silence, barely registering her own voice.

“Hi.”  
“I’m leaving, Eve.”

Eve is taken aback by the abruptness of Villanelle’s answer, having expected her to respond with her usual snarky quip, but instead her tone is low and flat.

“I-um, okay. What do you mean leaving? Are you-I mean, are you still in the country?”

“I’m not very far from you.”

“Um, okay.”

They’re silent again, and Eve hears the light sound of rain hitting the windows. 

“Why did you call me?”

Villanelle’s breath hitches, almost as if she’s stifling a laugh.

“If I’m being honest, Eve, which I’m usually not, I’m not used to having someone walk away from me without me trying to kill them first.”

“Well then why did you tell me to walk away, huh?”

A hint of familiar indignance creeps into Villanelle’s voice. “You asked for my help.”

Eve’s face grows hot. “Okay, so then you call me a week later to tell me you’re leaving? What’s the fucking point? That’s like, literally the opposite of what you said we should do in the first place.”

“Okay fine. I guess I have impulse control issues. Sorry,” Villanelle snaps. “I thought that maybe you would want to know.”

Eve grits her teeth. “Okay. Well, I didn’t. I don’t. You should have just gone.”

“My mistake.”

Eve exhales and leans her head against the wall. “I don’t want to fight with you,” she whispers, being honest with herself for the first time in over a week. She can practically hear Villanelle’s smirk as she murmurs, “Do you want me to go, then?”

She still has no idea what she wants, not that she has ever had an idea of it in the first place, and resents the fact that Villanelle seems to be able to figure it out for herself just fine. She pauses before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper.  
“You know we can’t do this anymore.”

Villanelle is silent again, and Eve feels an explosive wave of bitterness course through her. “I mean, did you know that I haven’t left the house in over a week because of you?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. I tend to have that effect on people.”

Eve doesn’t know whether she wants to smash her phone against the wall or beg Villanelle to stay. She’s run out of things to say to her, so they sit in silence again. Finally, Villanelle speaks.

“Do you want me to give you a reason to leave the house?”

Eve hates the fact that she hadn’t tried to convince herself earlier that she will never see Villanelle again, because the suggestion of the possibility of seeing her in it itself is enough to bring Eve’s guard crashing down. “Why?”

“To say goodbye.”

She doesn’t know if she’s hallucinating, or dreaming, or just the biggest fucking doormat on the planet, but somehow she finds herself murmuring, “Okay.”

“I’ll call you an Uber. Keep an eye out for it.”

“Wait, where are we going?”

She finds out fifteen minutes later when the black SUV pulls into a secluded driveway off a quiet dirt road. A quaint cottage sits tucked between a cluster of willow trees. It’s simultaneously shabby and chic, just as Villanelle likes it. Eve gets out of the car and swings her bag over her shoulder, cautiously making her way up the stone walkway to where she can see Villanelle’s shape against the doorway.

“Hi. Again.”

“What do you think?”

“What?”

“Of the place.”

“Oh. Oh yeah. Um, it’s nice. Very you.”

Villanelle appears to have dressed down for the occasion, wearing a wine-red turtleneck, black cargo pants, and a long, undoubtedly designer coat. A familiar sense of calm washes over Eve as Villanelle studies her, as if her humanity is being breathed back into life. Villanelle smirks and holds the door open. “Come in.”

The inside is exactly what Eve had been expecting given the outside, with a cobblestone fireplace, assortment of plants, rows of bookshelves, and French impressionist paintings on the walls.

Villanelle takes a glass out of a cabinet and turns on the sink. “Water?”

“Um, I’m good, thanks.”

Villanelle fills the glass with water and drinks it quickly.

“What’s with the art?

“What?”

Eve gestures to the paintings.

“Oh,” Villanelle refills her glass. “I don’t know. It’s an Air BNB.”

“Oh. I see.”

Eve watches Villanelle down her second glass of water, and feels her chest tightening as Villanelle stares back at her.

“So what do you want to do now, then?”

Eve peels off her coat and takes a step towards Villanelle, losing all sense of time until they are an inch apart, not touching, their gaze unbroken. Villanelle looks down at her, her wide eyes narrowing, and places her hands gently on Eve’s waist as if she is afraid that the slightest amount of pressure will shatter her into pieces. Her breathing quickens as she looks into the face of the woman from whom she has taken everything, while trying to give her the world. Eve tucks a loose strand of Villanelle’s hair behind her ear and speaks softly. “Let’s watch a movie.”

They sit stiffly on opposite ends of the couch with their eyes transfixed on the screen. Villanelle, Eve quickly discovers, is not fun to watch movies with as she loudly voices her opinions on every decision made by each character.

“Are you insane? Why would you use rat poison on a guy that old? You could just push him down the stairs and he would be done.”

“Can you please shut up?”

Villanelle’s face twists into an exaggerated expression of hurt. “Don’t be rude, Eve,” she simpers, “Do you not care about what I have to say?”

“No, I just don’t see the point in watching a movie if you’re just gonna talk the whole time.”

Villanelle raises her eyebrows in contempt and crosses her arms, looking back at the screen.

Eve stands up from the couch. “I’m getting water.” 

She walks into the kitchen and takes a glass from the cabinet Villanelle opened earlier. She turns the tap on, and leans her hands against the edge of the sink, suddenly feeling as if everything around her is moving at a dizzying speed. She inhales sharply, closes her eyes, and feels the light pressure of Villanelle’s hands on her hips from behind. She doesn’t know why she can’t look at her, and whispers without turning around.

“When are you going?”

“Tomorrow.” 

Eve grips the edge of the sink and feels Villanelle cautiously lean into her. They are still for a moment, before Villanelle says softly, “If you tell me to stay, I’ll stay.”

Somehow these words hurt even more than the idea of Villanelle leaving. Eve isn’t used to this Villanelle; the one who gives her options, and asks what she wants, and acts for the good of them both. She lets out a slow breath and turns around to face her. Villanelle’s eyebrows are furrowed and her lips slightly parted. She reaches out her right hand and brushes Eve’s cheek, shaking, and Eve marvels at the raw vulnerability of the girl who is unbreakable at all other times.

“Do you feel anything right now, Eve?”

Eve focuses on Villanelle’s eyes, unblinking. “I don’t know,” she breathes, “do you?”

Villanelle tilts her head back and smiles painfully, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “I think I just started to feel everything all at once.”

Eve picks up Villanelle’s right hand and holds it flat against her own, intertwining their fingers. She leans her head into Villanelle’s until they are centimeters away, and grazes her lips lightly over Villanelle’s chin, jawline, cheeks and lips. They do this for several minutes before Villanelle hesitantly places a light kiss on Eve’s mouth. Eve pauses and looks at Villanelle, whose gaze is longing and hinted with sadness.  
“We can’t.” Eve steps back, but holds her gaze.

“Why not?”

“It’s just going to make everything worse. You know that.”

Villanelle’s eyes narrow, and she moves closer. “What is it you really want, Eve? Hm?”

Eve doesn’t know why she feels like she is about to burst into tears. She buries the feeling by grabbing Villanelle’s head and kissing her.

It’s heated, yet somehow gentle and slow. Villanelle kisses her as if it’s her first and last time, which, Eve thinks, it most likely is. Villanelle breaks away for a split second to look at her, smiling softly and tucking a long dark curl behind her ear. No one has ever looked at Eve like this before, not even Niko. She feels Villanelle’s long fingers coursing through her hair and realizes she has been pressed against the wall, still shaking as Villanelle kisses her neck, and jaw, and collarbone. Just as her hands move to her belt, she breaks away. “Wait,” she pants, breathless.

Villanelle’s face is concerned. “What’s wrong?” She cups her face in her hands as Eve struggles to get her bearings. When she does, she looks up at her, with an expression Villanelle knows all too well.

“This is so many kinds of fucked up.”

“Yeah. You think?”

Eve half-smiles, then grows somber again. “I mean, this is just about the most fucked up thing that we could do. Given any circumstance.”

Villanelle smirks. “So now is the time you start worrying about your ethics?”

“Shut up.”

Villanelle leans her forehead against Eve’s. “We don’t have to do anything, Eve.”

But Eve knows this won’t be possible given the circumstances either. She meets Villanelle’s gaze, and allows her to take her hand.

“Let’s just go slow.”

Villanelle’s face breaks into a grin wider than Eve thinks a human is capable of doing, and begins to lead her out of the kitchen. “Yes, Boss.”  
“Now you’re pushing it.”

Villanelle is domineering, but unexpectedly gentle, and Eve feels like she’s seeing in color for the first time. They stay in bed for hours, holding each other, gasping, and tangling the sheets. When they finally get tired, they lie facing each other, a moment that brings them back to that fateful day in the Paris apartment. Eve runs her fingers along Villanelle’s stomach, feeling her sigh as she touches the thin scar.

Villanelle studies Eve’s face, tracing the delicate lines on her forehead and mouth. “Will you think about me? After I leave?”

Eve smirks and lies flat. “Well, if your plan works this time hopefully not.”

Villanelle gives a sad smile, and Eve feels a pang in her chest. She turns back to face her.

“I see you everywhere,” she whispers. “I see you on the street, and I see you whenever the bus goes by, and when it’s raining, and I see you when I look into random strangers’ faces, and at restaurants, and in books.” Eve swallows, her throat tightening. “I can’t control it. Or make it stop. Or anything. You’re just everywhere.”

Villanelle’s eyes are soft, and she lightly bites her lip.

“And maybe it’s just some kind of weird sign that I can’t make you leave,” Eve continues, “Or my subconscious forcing me to accept that I don’t want you to leave.”

Villanelle forces back her tears and laughs quietly as if in awe, still holding Eve’s gaze. Eve feels herself grow heavy as she moves closer to her, their bodies untouching, and whispers with shaking breaths.

“I want you stay.”

Villanelle hastily wipes her face and shakes her head. “You don’t want me here, Eve.”

Eve’s face contorts with grief. “I know.”

They lay silently as the sun begins to wash streaks of soft orange light onto the walls. Eve takes in Villanelle's entire being: Her distanced eyes, narrow jaw, elevated cheekbones, and delicate lips. Villanelle smiles softly, and touches her face.

“Eve,” she whispers, “Eve. Eve. Eve.”

Eve runs her thumb over her cheek.

“Oksana.”

They fall asleep sometime later, and Eve wakes up disoriented and alone. The events of the earlier hours are a blur, and she feels catatonic as she pulls on her rumpled clothes from the day before.

“Villanelle?”

She goes to the kitchen, and looks in the living room, and all of the other rooms they never went into. She notices the postcard when she re-enters the kitchen, leaning against a potted plant. There is no location on the front, just a stock image of some tropical location with palm trees. She flips it over and reads:

Eve,  
I wanted to go before you woke up. Ceremonious goodbyes aren’t really my thing. Try not to forget about me. Vx

P.S. Find me. I know you’ve got it in you.

Eve has to sit down. She wipes her face on her sleeve and lets go of all that she has been holding in over the last year, all the frustration, stress, heartache, and anger, and her. 

She reads the postcard again and smiles through tears, tucking it into her pocket.

“See you around, Villanelle.”


End file.
